


on my shoulders (the weight of the world)

by toasttomistakes



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/F, Homophobic Language, Rule 63, cisgirl!Gallavich, cisgirl!ian/cisgirl!mickey, fem!gallavich, post-4x11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:28:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2703785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toasttomistakes/pseuds/toasttomistakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Its my fucking hair. People shouldn't go around trying to fucking touch it unless they want all their knuckles broken.”</p><p>Ian rolls her eyes, before producing the pair of scissors she had hidden behind her back. “So, why don’t we get rid of it?”</p><p> <i>(In which Ian gives Mickey a haircut)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	on my shoulders (the weight of the world)

**Author's Note:**

> so [delgay](http://delgay.tumblr.com) made a [post](http://delgay.tumblr.com/post/94933836080/ok-heres-my-headcanons-for-the-appearances-of) on tumblr a while back with her headcanons on fem!ian/mickey's hair and I loved the idea of Mickey rocking a pixie cut after coming out, so that totally inspired this fic :)

Mickey’s sitting on the worn-out couch in their living room, lazily smoking a cigarette and waiting for Ian to come home. Mandy’s working a double shift at the diner, and who the fuck knows where Mickey’s stupid fucking husband is (Mickey certainly doesn’t care as long as he’s not here), and Ian was supposed to be here 24 minutes ago (not that Mickey’s keeping track of the time or anything, she’s not that whipped). 

Mickey hears the front door open, and sees Ian walk in a second later, shrugging her jacket off and dumping her bag unceremoniously on the floor.

“Hey,” Ian greets, bending down to give Mickey a quick kiss Mickey on her lips. Mickey is still surprised by how much she doesn’t mind this whole casual-kissing-for-absolutely-no-reason thing, and how this _domesticity_ (she shudders at the word) is actually kind of nice after everything they have been through (Mickey may be a lot of things but she isn’t naïve. She knows this is the calm between two storms because shit is going to get fucked up, it always does with them, but that doesn't mean she isn't going to appreciate this weird tranquility while it lasts).

“Hey? That’s all you've got to say? Where the fuck were you?” Mickey grumbles, putting out her cigarette in the beer can she is using as a makeshift ashtray.

Ian’s mouth twitches as she tries to stop herself from smiling at her girlfriend’s annoyance. “Lip got out of class late, and someone had to watch Liam until Lip could pick him up,” Ian pauses, smirking at Mickey. “Missed me did you?”

“Fuck off. I’m horny and bored.”

“Sounds like you missed me,” Ian drawls as she sits down besides Mickey, pressing her body against her girlfriend’s. She leans down to rest her head on Mickey’s shoulder and entwines their hands, tracing Mickey’s tattoos with her finger.

Mickey scoffs. “Fuck no, we are not doing this cuddling shit,” she says, and Ian laughs but doesn’t move an inch. Mickey doesn’t make any move to disentangle their bodies either, and they both know that when it comes to Mickey actions are always more important than words, so Ian can count this as a win.

Ian won’t stop bouncing her legs, and its annoying as fuck, but at the same time, Mickey finds it strangely comforting because it means Ian’s _here_ , not running away from her family (or more accurately, running away from Mickey), or dancing at that stupid fucking club high out of her mind. 

Ian grabs a strand of Mickey’s hair, twirling it around her finger, before Mickey swats her hand away. Mickey hasn’t bothered straightening her hair today, and it’s a fucking mess. She grabs all her hair, tying it up in a messy bun, and catches Ian watching her.

“What?” Mickey grunts.

“Nothing,” Ian frowns, pouting her lips in a way that drives Mickey crazy because all she wants to do is kiss that look off Ian’s face. She’s proud of her self-restraint, resisting the temptation to kiss Ian for years, but now that she’s given in she can’t stop _wanting_ all the time. Wanting Ian. Wanting to kiss her, and fuck her, and even _hold her fucking hand_ like this is the fucking L Word or some fucking dyke-y shit.

Ian’s too distracted to notice Mickey staring at her. Mickey can almost see the gears turning in Ian’s head, the way she narrows her eyes and purses her lips, just a little. Mickey groans inwardly because she knows what that look means, and she knows that it always leads to trouble, and just as she predicts, Ian stands up abruptly, dropping Mickey’s hand.

“Wait, actually, I have an idea,” Ian says, practically skipping towards Mandy’s room.  Ian is full of energy, has been ever since she got back, and it’s getting harder for Mickey to keep up with her. Ian has been full of ideas lately. Too many half-baked ideas that she scribbles down on old receipts, or take-out containers or that stupid, _stupid_ little journal of hers that Mickey isn’t allowed to look at (and she won’t look at. She understands how important privacy is and she wouldn’t do that to Ian no matter how much that stupid journal mocks her when Ian isn’t around).

Ian walks back into the room with her hands behind her back, grinning from ear to ear. She’s bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet, excitement radiating off of her, and Mickey can’t help the growing pit of anxiety in her stomach.  

“You always said you hated your long hair right?”

“ _Hate_ is such a strong word. I never said _hate_. Just that it gets a little uncomfortable sometimes, that’s all” Mickey sniffs.

“Yeah, yeah, and that it’s a bitch to style everyday, people keep touching it—“

“Its my fucking hair. _People_ shouldn't go around trying to fucking touch it unless they want all their knuckles broken.”

Ian rolls her eyes, before producing the pair of scissors she had hidden behind her back. “So, why don’t we get rid of it?”

 

 

 

Mickey sits on the edge of the bathtub, chipping off her old nail polish, as Ian separates her hair into five equal parts, tying each one with a cheap plastic rubberband.

“Okay, you ready?” Ian asks, grabbing the pair of scissors with one hand and giving Mickey the small hand mirror with the other. She squeezes Mickey’s shoulder in a way that is probably meant to be reassuring, but doesn’t really help Mickey feel better in any way.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” Mickey asks, trying to keep her voice from wavering. She isn't _nervous_ per say, she came out to her dad in a bar full of people, nothing could possibly make her nervous after that, and besides only pussies get nervous and Mickey Milkovich is most definitely not a pussy (despite what people say, you are not what you eat).

Its just, this is her _hair_. Her beautiful, long, silky hair that she spends hours styling because she has to make sure her parting is _just_ right, and maybe Ian is right, maybe Mickey does spend a lot of time complaining about it (especially when she has to try and get all the muck out of it after fooling around with Ian in the dugouts), but goddammit its been such an important part of her for so long, she needs to know Ian won't fuck this up. 

“Relax, I've done this a billion times. I used to cut Debbie’s hair all the time when we were little.“ Mickey peers at Ian through her mirror and narrows her eyes. Ian is holding a chunk of Mickey’s hair in one hand, and the pair of scissors in the other, a slight frown tugging at her bottom lip.

Mickey raises an eyebrow.

“Well?” she asks.

“Just give me a second here. I'm nervous.”

Mickey splutters before turning around to glare at Ian.

“Gallagher!” she barks. “ _You're_  nervous? I thought you'd done this a billion fucking times before!”

“I have, it’s just—“

“ _You_ ain't the one putting the fate of _your_ hair in some fucking rookie's hands—“

“Really not helping calm my nerves here, Mick—“

“You fuck up my hair and I swear I'll rip that pretty little tongue out of your head.”

“You wouldn't,” Ian replies smugly. “You love it too much.”

Mickey glares. Ian can't help but smile, which only makes Mickey glare harder. Mickey knows she looks ridiculous, pouting angrily with her hair sticking out of ponytails all over her head, but Ian is looking at her like she’s perfect and Mickey doesn't understand _that_ at all.

Ian bends down and puts her hands around Mickey’s neck, stroking Mickey’s face with her thumbs.  Mickey can feel her stomach twist, and she can’t stop her heart from doing that thing it does whenever Ian is around (skips a beat, or whatever), and she just feels too much, all the time.  Mickey squirms and avoids looking at Ian.

Ian sighs, tucking a loose strand of her hair that had fallen out of her braid behind her ear.

“I promise I won't fuck this up, okay?” Mickey nods her head slightly, and that is all the reassurance Ian needs. She flashes Mickey a smile and kisses the top of Mickey’s head before straightening up. Mickey sighs and turns around again, throwing her legs into the bathtub.

Mickey watches Ian through the mirror as she grabs one of Mickey’s ponytails again.  Ian licks her lips, and Mickey smiles a little at how adorable Ian looks when she’s concentrating on something, her eyebrows drawn together and chin sticking out with that stubborn determination. She suddenly feels a lot calmer, watching Ian cut off the ponytail. Mickey expects the scissors to go through her hair easily, but the scissors are blunt, and Ian has to fight to get them through her hair, cutting the same piece two, three, four times before it finally falls to the floor.

Mickey stares at her hair, biting down hard on her lip to stop herself from grinning. It is jagged and rough, and Ian is definitely going to have to even it out after she chops off the rest of Mickey’s hair, but Mickey _loves_ it. Mickey can feel her girlfriend watching her through the mirror, a small smile playing on her lips. 

“How about you quit fucking staring at me and finish what you started?” Mickey grumbles. She hates it when Ian looks at her like that, as if she’s something special or as if she _matters_. No one has ever looked at her that way before, and her heart physically hurts because she isn't quite sure what to do with that feeling (she tries to quench down the other feeling, the one that says she isn't good enough).

“Yes, dear,” Ian smirks.

Mickey tries elbowing her in the ribs, but their positions make it awkward, and Mickey loses her balance, nearly falling in the bathtub.  Ian brings out a hand to steady her, which Mickey promptly shrugs off.  Ian laughs at that, and Mickey really does want to punch her. Hard. In the face.

Mickey kisses her instead. She flips her legs over so she can wrap them around Ian, and Ian drops the scissors, kissing Mickey back and biting her lip softly. Mickey moans against her mouth, and Ian runs her fingers through Mickey’s soft hair until she grabs on to the uneven bits. Ian groans and pulls back, resting her forehead against Mickey’s and breathing heavily. Mickey thinks she loves Ian best like this, with her face flushed and lips swollen. 

“Come on, let me finish up here,” Ian says softly, nudging Mickey slightly on her shoulder.

Mickey turns around and Ian picks up the scissors she had dropped on the floor.

 

 

 

Mickey feels something in her chest loosen as she stares at herself in the mirror, running her hand through her new pixie cut. She never really though about what it would feel like, to get rid of all that hair, heavy and useless, weighing her down, forcing her to keep up appearances she needed to survive. But she doesn’t need that anymore. She’s got Ian and that’s all the safety she needs.  This feels like a big fuck you to her (worthless, piece of shit) father, almost as big a fuck you as shouting how much she likes pussy next to a cop car as her father is being hauled off in handcuffs. She feels _lighter_ some how. _Free_ or some shit. She laughs at that thought, and she can see Ian raise an eyebrow behind her.

“Do you like it?” Ian asks, leaning against the bathroom door, playing with her braid as it hangs over her shoulder.

“It’s,” Brilliant. Amazing. _Perfect._ Mickey clears her throat. “Not that bad,” she settles on, turning back to glance at Ian quickly.

A slow smiles spreads across Ian’s face, before she makes her way towards Mickey, closing the gap between them. She grabs Mickey by the waist, and spins her around so that their bodies are pressed together, before swooping down to cover Mickey’s lips with her own. She kisses Mickey hard, the way Mickey likes it, and Mickey feels like she’s floating, or drowning (she hasn't quite figured out the difference yet).

“You look so, so hot, Mick,” Ian mumbles against Mickey’s lips. “So,” she kisses Mickey’s cheek, “so, hot,” she kisses her neck, before biting it softly. 

Mickey flushes at the compliment. She still hasn't learnt how to accept those, doesn’t know if she ever will, but Ian says things so earnestly it’s impossible not to believe them once in a while. 

“You're perfect,” Ian murmurs against Mickey’s lips. She slips one hand under Mickey’s shirt and runs her fingers through Mickey’s hair with the other.  “And your hair is so sexy.”

 Mickey feels her throat tighten, and she struggles with trying to say the words. She settles for kissing Ian back instead, softly at first, the way Ian likes it, hoping she understands what Mickey is trying to say. _You’re perfect too._ (Of course Ian understands. Ian always understands).

 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos/comments are much appreciated <3
> 
> find me on tumblr at [pyleas.tumblr.com](http://pyleas.tumblr.com)


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